


Room for Panic

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby's Panic Room, Drinking, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e02 Are You There God? It's Me Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Guilt, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For that-sarah-is-such-a-cumberbitch and amayakumiko.</p><p>Sam is impressed by the panic room.</p><p>Established relationship. Unexpected angst in the middle. Takes place during "Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room for Panic

"Are you sure?" Dean asked.

"Of course I'm sure." Bobby gave Dean a what-do-you-take-me-for look. "You don't have another case yet, do you? So take it easy for once."

Dean didn't exactly look like he wanted to do that.

"Or hoof it on down to the bar," Bobby rolled his eyes. "First time back on the scene since the Pit, right?"

"Damn straight it is," Dean nodded. "You comin', Sam?" He waggled his eyebrows. "We could find you some action."

Sam ignored that comment and took a look at Bobby. Bobby was worried about his boys and wanted them close for the night, and Sam could see that.  They’d stay for the night, yeah. And the bar was close enough that he could come home easily if he got tired, of the bar or of Dean.

Or if he just wanted to see Bobby without Dean around.

***

"What's eatin' you?"

"Hm?"

"Your Hell-fresh big brother takes you out to celebrate a job well done, and you don't even listen to him when he brags? Might as well have left you at Bobby's."

Sam shrugged and glanced first at Dean, then at the door across the bar. 

"Thinkin' about today?"

Sam shook his head. "No, just...stuff. Um." He took a look at Dean, drinking in the sight of him for a moment absently. "Yeah, maybe I'll walk back," he confirmed.

"Pathetic," Dean grinned. "I better not hear that you settled in with one of those giganto books for some extracurricular reading."

Sam made a face.

"And don't worry. I'll wear a rubber." Dean winked saucily.

Sam pushed Dean half-heartedly and said, "Ew!"

***

"Back so soon, Sam?" Sam looked twitchy to Bobby's eyes. "What's eatin' you?"

Sam looked past Bobby into the house. "Bars aren't really my scene," he said.

"Yeah, I too would rather succumb to a family history of alcoholism in the comfort of my own home," Bobby grumbled. "Hope you don't mind I got a head start."

"You've been drinking this whole time?" 

Bobby led Sam in to the desk with the bottles, crossing his arms. "Rough day, Sam. I'm entitled."

"Hey, I'm not saying you aren't," Sam said quickly.

"You're lookin' like a trapped rabbit," Bobby said gently, getting a second glass for Sam. "What's on your mind?"

Sam paused. "You," he said with a slight smile that threatened to disappear if it wasn't wanted. 

"...Okay." 

"It's been a little while." Suddenly, Sam bowed his head slightly. "I, um. I went a little crazy after Dean, I...get that. So, I'd understand if...." He ran a hand through his hair, looking up. "Are we still...?" Maybe he was too late and Bobby didn't like what Sam had become, such a lone wolf, so mysterious and...altered.

"Yeah," Bobby admitted, taking his seat. "We're...still." Something about the searching look in Bobby's eyes suggested they might _always_...still be.

"Been a while," Sam repeated. "And it's all my...sorry."

"Well, it's never exactly been a regular thing," Bobby offered, letting his eyes drift to the mess of bottles, books, and dog-eared notes on the desk, "in any sense of the word. And today wasn't exactly what I'd call romantic. So, no worries."

Sam raised a brow. "No?" he asked. "Okay."

Bobby looked up again, assessing Sam's posture, his expression. "You're really asking? After a day like today?"

Sam bit his lip, a smile lighting his eyes up. He nodded quickly. "Yeah. I want you." He shrugged like it made perfect sense.

Bobby looked away, like he typically did, eyes focusing on the current bottle as he poured himself more. "You _want_ me?" he half-mocked. 

"Yeah. You busy?" Sam's voice rumbled low with intent. Bobby looked up again in an instant, swept up by it.

"Not very," he said with a breath. "Nothin' that can't wait, anyhow."

Sam laughed, his eyes soft. "I'm top priority, huh?"

"You're a bad influence on me, you know that?" Bobby pushed a heavy book farther away from his elbow. "Always were."

"Like when we'd lie to Dad?" Sam grinned. 

"Only, back then it was about easy stuff, like homework time or a trip to the farmers' market."

"You can't refuse me, can you, Bobby?" Sam teased.

"Not easily anyway. So?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "So? So what?"

"You've got to have some reason for this. I know; you've got that _look_ about you." Bobby watched as Sam bit his lip. 

Seeing as his own glass had been drained, Sam picked up Bobby's and took a sip, then, silently, another. Then he set the glass back down. "The panic room," he said, eyes achingly honest.

Bobby eyed Sam for signs it was a joke, even though he knew an honest Sam when he saw one, or at least thought he did. No, though, it seemed the panic room really did something for him.

"Is it," Bobby said, lowering his voice, looking around like Dean or John might show up and judge him, "the handcuffs?"

"What?! No. No, it's...," Sam stared at him for a second with a hint of real distaste. "No, it's not that at all." He almost looked too surprised to explain his reasoning, so Bobby prompted him, careful.

"So?" He reached up, gently placing a hand on Sam's hip. "What does this have to do with the stupid panic room? What's got you going after such a Day Gone Bad?"

"Uh. Just...that you made it." Sam looked wary, as if the reasoning would bother Bobby, but he leaned into the hand at his hip.

"Meaning?"

"You're so smart, Bobby." Sam's voice was scarcely a whisper. " _So_ smart. The amount of know-how and technical skill and...manpower a guy would need to fix up a place like that. And...you finished it in one weekend, which is, like, unprecedented." He swallowed, bringing the glass to his lips again, draining it, the curve of his lip lingering at the rim of the glass slightly. "It's such a good idea. It just...makes me hot," he breathed, "to think about how strong and how smart someone would have to be."

Sam seemed to suddenly notice the praise was too much, was making Bobby uncomfortable. Bobby had a hard time believing his praise, just like Dean did. "Anyway, that's the reason," he said quickly. "And I want to...kind of want to...show you how great I think it is?"

Bobby took a long moment to think, taking in the way Sam leaned into his hand and bowed his head, his confidence mixed with guilt and embarrassment and adoration. On the one hand, it had been a long day and Bobby still didn't quite get what the fascination with the panic room was, even with that amount of sappy over-explanation. The room was bare and stark and iron, and he knew all its secrets.

It hadn't really been that impressive of him, anyway. He'd just picked up a few things from other hunters. Just because Sam hadn't seen a panic room before didn't make Bobby's particularly special or much of an accomplishment. It was like being praised for fixing the Colt. It had been necessity, and he had gotten the idea from someone else.

On the other hand, Sam was so deep he often saw things that Bobby didn't see at first, things that Bobby didn't really see _ever_ , and the adoration in those soft eyes meant a lot more than the explanations he had that Bobby didn't quite understand.

Plus, it _had_ been a while, and there wasn't a whole lot of point in refusing a willing Sam, not when they were both still capable of getting it up.

"Okay," he found himself saying.

Sam straightened up, looking surprised. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, you easily-impressed idjit. One go in the panic room. It'll be easy enough to clean."

Sam grew more and more sweetly intent and pleased as they went down the stairs, but he really came to life when Bobby opened the heavy door. He gazed at the walls and floor, at all the furnishings, wonder evident across the planes of his face. "This is amazing," he praised "Er, genius, really." He chanced a glance at Bobby, quirking his lip in that arrogant little way of his as he said, "You need to stop complaining about how old and useless you think you are."

"Shh," Bobby said, wanting to stop the nonsense. "It's not all that. Give it a rest." 

Sam grinned. "It'll be hard."

"You're so full of shit it's comin' out your ears, I _swear_."

Sam grew serious for a moment. "Bobby, about these past few months...."

"Oh, don't. You were mourning Dean; I get that. It's...different from mourning John, I know. For me too. I fell into a bottle, and you ran and kept running."

Sam and Bobby may have pulled decisively away from each other after Dean's death, but it had been the opposite when they'd lost John. Sam could remember the days after John's deal as a blur of loss and regret and relief. Dean had been in and out, fixing the car and drinking at the bar and holing away in the basement when there'd not been a panic room there. 

It had started with story swapping, with memories and drinks and stupid toasts and quick mutual bouts of research they toasted themselves for afterward, and soap operas Sam didn't care for that Bobby let him sit close by during, so he'd endured them.

Their comfort with each other's flaws and nuances had flared up again, old flights of impressiveness returning and reminding them of what life still had in store for the living, even through the loss, even through the things left unsaid to John, because Bobby had had plenty of those too. 

In fact, Sam had gotten a mellowed-out Bobby to admit that he'd sort of had a thing for John, and it had all went downhill from there. There had been a new regime of flirting, and Sam had been reckless and rebellious and understanding, and Sam had found himself pressed back against the bookshelf as he was praised with a needy tongue, and Sam had his fingers running over Bobby's hatless head with reverence, feeling the beard scratchy and strange against him, making him laugh and squirm. 

Bobby's face afterward, frightened and pleased and a little proud, and the way Sam had sunk to his knees so they could be close, it had all seemed oddly natural to them. They probably should have been more freaked. But then, they'd never felt like family was the end-all-be-all of their relationship.

"Fine. Then, I guess we're good." Sam's broad hands guided Bobby to sit on the cot, and Bobby felt the air rush out of him pleasantly at the sensation of Sam using his strength like that.  

"Are you blushing?" Sam teased, reaching to unbutton Bobby's shirt.

"Where did you go, anyway?" Bobby asked. "Been okay?" 

Sam didn't answer, just finished with the shirt's buttons before starting on the buttons of his own. "T-shirt off," he told Bobby with a tone of authority.

Bobby made a face. "It don't matter," he said. He reached down to take off his boots. "Hold your breath, son," he warned dramatically. 

Sam laughed as he kicked his own shoes off, tossing his own t-shirt onto the floor with force.

"You broke the Devil's trap," Bobby joked, eyeing the shirt's location where it stopped the line of the trap. 

"Yeah," Sam huffed with a little grin, "Sounds like me."

Bobby watched Sam curiously. "How do you mean?"

Sam tried to look casual as he said, "You know me. I'm bad, Bobby." 

"Oh, are you now?" Bobby looked caught between sending a half-hearted laugh at the total joke it might have been and seriously stopping Sam right there before the talk got any worse, any more mocking and terrifying, because he knew damn well it could.

Sam knelt down between Bobby's legs, seductive as he could be and sweet besides. Hand on Bobby's thigh, he leaned in for a kiss Bobby granted. This was best, just ignoring Sam's drivel. They'd let the moment pass. That was fine with Bobby.

Sam stopped the kiss to rub his cheek against the beard, to nuzzle it, and he commented, "You need to take a shower." 

Oh. Well, that was a lot better than talk of being bad and all of that.

"Yeah, well, if I knew ahead of time, I'd have taken one," Bobby griped with a hint of nerves. "We should try to take one together again."

"As if! Your shower's too small, Bobby."

"You're too big, is the problem. I fit in it just fine, thanks." He pulled Sam close again for a soul-centering kiss or three. The intimacy was always worth the irritation of familiarity and the poor decisions they didn't want to think about. Sam's bare back felt great to his wandering hands.

"I want your shirt off," Sam breathed, pulling back enough to use the full force of his pleading expression against Bobby, whose hands released Sam so he could lift up the hem of his ratty t-shirt. For some no-doubt stupid reason, Sam liked to see him as bare as he liked to see Sam, even though the picture was a lot less beautiful. In fact, if you asked Bobby, the picture was ugly, and always had been.

Some women had almost managed to make him feel like something worth having, back when he was better-looking, was thinner, but this was a whole different set of circumstances, and he looked damn awful. Sam had never exactly been normal, though, so Bobby let it slide.

"Oh god," Sam said, blinking as he pulled back slightly. "You do sort of reek, Bobby." He blinked again, innocent, annoying.

"And you smell like a begonia in the spring," Bobby rolled his eyes. "Hand me my shirt," he said awkwardly. It was now on the floor between them as Sam knelt and looked up at him.

"Do you think you could take, like, the world's quickest shower and I'll sit here naked, trying not to touch myself?" Sam said with a little smirk and a raised brow.

Bobby reached out and drew Sam up and forward with insistence, kissing Sam heavily for a moment. When he pulled back to see Sam looking pleasure-drunk, he was satisfied. "Sure thing," he said. "Get naked first and lie down. Then I'll hurry."

Sam laughed and wriggled out of his jeans, taking Bobby's place on the creaking cot and peeling his damp socks off one by one. He got into a comfortable position on his back, grinning up at Bobby. "This good?" He rested a hand on his thigh, trying for enticing and more or less accomplishing it.

"Hold that thought. Hold every thought."

"Aww, how poetic."

"Hush." Bobby made his way up the stairs, and Sam did his best to let his mind relax, but the thing about Sam was he couldn't hold thoughts back. Bobby always said he was deep, which sometimes was a compliment and sometimes was a criticism, but mainly it was a fact, and, though aroused and lightly stroking, Sam's mind began to drift to the dark places, to the colder notions.

He jumped slightly when the door creaked open and Bobby walked through. Not one to waste time, Bobby began stripping out of the clean clothes. "Now you're the one who reeks," he pointed out smugly. "But anyway, want help with that? Cause you came to the right panic room."

Sam grinned and shifted so he was sitting on the cot where Bobby had been before, feet over the side. There was room for Bobby to sit next to him, so sit he did, tugging Sam close enough to smell him if he turned.

They embraced, and Bobby let his hand reach out and curl its fingers around Sam, who moaned into his mouth sweetly, but...it sounded sort of distracted.

Bobby just held him in hand for a moment, pulling from the kiss to ask, "What's on your mind, kid?"

"This room," Sam said honestly.

"And this _room_ has you distracted, when I'm the hot stud or whatever who fixed it up and I'm right here and even showered for your ungrateful ass?"

Sam grinned at the teasing, throwing his arms around Bobby, pulling him close. He rested his head against his shoulder. "I don't think it's a room Dean will see much of, you know? But I figure _I_ will. So it's sort of mine."

Bobby chuckled. "You think so? Well, it's soundproof, so there's that. We've never had a designated spot before." The thought was kind of fun.

Sam laughed. "Not what I meant, really," he said cryptically.

"Well what did you mean?" Bobby grumbled, reminding Sam's need of his hand's presence and stroking, pleased with Sam's responsive shudder.

"Well, you know," purred Sam. "I'm bad, Bobby. Outta control. No delusions when I'm with you. I'm just bad news, but you know it. And I know it too."

Bobby leaned in to kiss at Sam's neck. "Shhh."

"It's okay," said Sam. "It's okay, Bobby." He ran his hand through Bobby's hair, curling his arm around Bobby to hold him close.

Bobby bit at Sam's neck harsh enough to hear him gasp in distraction, uncurled Sam's long fingers from his hair, guiding them to where his cock sat mostly-interested. He'd agreed to meet with Sam, but he hadn't agreed to carpool on Sam's guilt trip past the world's second biggest ball of whine.

"No, see, that's the thing," Sam breathed. "You're always protecting me. You'd lock me in here if you had to." 

Bobby pulled back from Sam's neck with a rough scrape of teeth, his eyes wide. "Shh!" he hissed fiercely.

"Dean can't do it," Sam said sadly, urgently. "Dean can't kill me, but if you had to...."

"For Pete's sake!" Bobby pleaded.

Those piercing eyes, that look of But You Owe Me. "I know you're strong enough," Sam said in apology. "We both know." 

Bobby's hand was stinging before he'd realized what he'd done. Sam, _his_ Sam, blinked at him, eyes wide for only a moment before becoming slitted and curious, then...warm, warm with understanding. 

And Bobby looked at his awful hand only meant for pulling triggers and barely fixing cars, looked at Sam's face which was...impressed, and he felt sick, he felt the worst inexorcisable parts of himself and of the dead man imprinted forever on his soul rising up in him and trying to take charge, and Sam was...Sam was actually smiling a little, and it was too much. "You shut your whore mouth!" Bobby finally managed, and he was shaking.

Sam's gaze went blank and serious, and he nodded. He eyed Bobby, not scared, just sort of...there. Noticed and tangible and watching. It was more than Bobby had ever asked for, more than he wanted. He found his mind whirring.

He'd just hit Sam. He'd never hit Sam before, not when it wasn't the heat of a fight and he was trying to teach him something important, not when they were...close.

Maybe it was the heat of a fight _now_. Maybe this was all in preparation, was a test, by something evil in Sam, and no. No! Bobby's breathing and heart rate increased as he pictured himself killing Sam like he'd killed Karen, like he'd killed Dad, like he'd put away the people he cared about too many times before. "Don't you _ever_ talk to me that way again!" he blurted out. 

Sam did look a little regretful then. "Bobby...."

"I am not your lethal injection," Bobby said, gaze hard, voice shaking. "I am not your electric chair, or your last resort, or...or your friendly neighborhood exterminator." 

"Sorry. I probably sound proud of it," Sam said softly, and Bobby eyed him nervously, hands still feeling twitchy, until..until Sam actually took his hands in his own. Bobby relaxed soon enough, hated how he relaxed so quickly for Sam, but it was better than hitting him again, wasn't it? Of course it was. "I'm not proud, though. I don't _want_ to put you through that, and I'd like to be as good as Dean, as good as you." He shook his head slightly. "But I'm just...being realistic. I admire how strong you are, Bobby," he tried to soothe.

"You, Sam, are trying to use me to do what you think Dean can't. But this is not the time," Bobby said with a frown. "This is not when you _talk_ about something like this. I shouldn't have to tell you that. But then, you're really not much of a relationship guy, are you?"

After a moment of looking away nervously like he was hiding something, Sam looked back and hooked his leg across Bobby's lap, furrowing his brow. "I'm sorry," he said again, and he really did look it, to Bobby's relief. "I was just...grateful, I guess. You make me feel safe. I'm sorry I'm doing the opposite for you, stirring everything up when you don't deserve that. Sorry, Bobby. You're...you just...mean a lot to me. You're the strongest person I know." He flinched slightly at the end.

Bobby slid his hands from Sam's to guide Sam's hips to straddle him slowly, to Sam's blinking surprise.

"If you shut up for once," Bobby warned, a little dangerous, "we can get on with this. I'll give it another shot. But if you ever try to turn our pillow talk toward thoughts of killing you, you'll be _lucky_ to see me naked again. And that's a promise."

Sam threw his arms around Bobby tightly, kissing his face, murmuring soft, quick apologies. "Didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered. "Really, I just didn't think."

And Bobby found himself on his back soon enough, coaxed there, and Sam did his best to squeeze onto the cot with him, and the rest was a lot sweeter, mainly hands that knew their way around and soft kisses and Sam being sorry, and Bobby liked a sorry Sam. A sorry Sam was a little less worrisome, a little less rebellious, and Sam wasn't really in guilt mode anymore, just felt bad for how he'd been so thoughtless, so he let Sam prove himself with long-fingered hands and whispers and sweet, hungry licks and kisses.

Sam leaned over him and kissed him again, noting the creak of metal. He rubbed his cheek against Bobby's beard. "Missed this. I did." And Bobby, as always, believed it somehow, especially when Sam focused on wringing increasingly helpless soft noises out of him, and those groans he sometimes tried to muffle with his arm, the kind that sometimes made Sam giggle with glee. 

Sam praised Bobby with a mouth he couldn't seem to shut. "You're so smart, Bobby," he cooed. "And so hot, so fucking hot." His sweat dripped, and his hair was mussed up and his eyes were watching Bobby so closely, so carefully.

"Shut up," Bobby said, rolling his eyes. "Talking too much," he said, and Sam fixed that by slinking down the cot and making Bobby see stars. Bobby curled his fingers in the dark, sweat-damp strands. "Oh, Sam," he called as he shuddered his release. "Yes."

And Bobby coaxed Sam up into a different position so he could return the favor while lying there with his hands on those hips, letting Sam fuck as he guided, taking it until Sam shot and whined, his endless eyes  heavy with satisfaction and adoration, just the way Bobby wanted to see them.

"Not bad," Bobby said as he tugged Sam close.

Sam laughed. "Good. What a relief. That was really weighing on me."

Bobby groaned. "Not the _sex_ , you idjit. I meant _you_. You're not bad.  You're a good kid."

"Well, you say that now. And you think you know me," murmured Sam sadly, like he was sorry for Bobby and not for himself. "You think you know me, Bobby, but...one day, you're all going to be sorry you met me." Seeing as how it wasn't a challenge or a declaration but was more of a heartfelt and fearful confession, Bobby didn't get upset, just ran his fingers through Sam's hair and kissed him again.

"Well," said Bobby, "you could have a point. Or you could be stupid. My money's on the second one. I'll deny this later, but I like you cause you're strong too, Sam. You can be as good as you want to be. No one's ever told you what to do before, and the forces of evil are no different. You'll realize what's what in the end," he noted with a nod. "You always do."

Sam got quiet and rested his head against Bobby's chest, curling up against him to try and fit on the cot. "What if it's stronger than me?"

"Nothing is," Bobby said. He let that hang for a moment, then repeated it. "Nothing is. So don't come back to me and tell me you let the Dark Side get your princess, cause I won't forgive you." 

Soft sniffling turned into soft laughter, until, "Help me, Bobby, you're my only hope!", which earned Sam a tired poke in the side.

***

They were shocked to find Dean home already when they arrived at the top of the stairs. Dean toasted them with the glass Bobby'd been drinking out of.

"Slim pickings," Dean said. 

Sam swallowed.

"Well," said Bobby, "Better luck next time."

"So, what, were you guys having a study session in the panic room?" Dean quirked a brow, taking the awkward silence as confirmation. "Lame. Nerds, the both of you." Dean paused. "Bobby, where's your hat?"

Bobby felt panic rise up, but he forced himself to calm. Dean would never suspect, not ever, if they continued to play their cards right. "Used it as a bookmark," he said finally.

"Go get another one. You look awful," Dean complained.

"Who are you, the fashion police?"

Sam smirked at that, and Bobby watched the curl of his kissed lips for a lingering second before heading to the desk to grab the nearest cap and put it on his head. "Better now?" he shot toward Dean.

"You know it, Sugar Daddy," Dean said with a wink, offering Bobby one of the other glasses.

"I'm good," Bobby said, then adding, "And I ain't your sugar daddy."

"Good. You couldn't afford me," Dean said. His gaze suddenly rounded on Sam. "You look...happy. Good book?"

"Yeah," Sam said quickly.

"About?"

"Angels," Sam said, and Dean started to laugh.

"Again with the holy boner." Sam swallowed at that, actually a little offended for the sake of the purity he saw in what was holy. "You might meet Castiel some day," Dean said. "Do yourself a favor and don't jizz in your pants, huh?" He smirked.

"It's official," Sam said. "You are...really disgusting." 

Dean smiled a wide, reckless smile. "Why should I care? What's the punishment, going to Hell?"

Sam lowered his head slightly, looking away from Dean. He chanced a look toward Bobby.

"Okay, you two," Bobby said. "It's closing time. Cuttin' you off. Time for bed."

Sam shot him a grateful look. And Bobby shot Sam a little, secret wink back. 


End file.
